


Jesse Custer: All You Can Eat Buffet

by ItsClydeBitches



Category: Preacher (Comics), Preacher (TV)
Genre: (lol), Blood, Blood Drinking, Language, M/M, Self-Harm, Twilight Bashing, Twilight References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-15
Updated: 2016-06-15
Packaged: 2018-07-15 07:51:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7213966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItsClydeBitches/pseuds/ItsClydeBitches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based off a prompt from a wonderful anon who gave me this: </p><p>“119 years old and Cassidy was starin' after that preacher with hearts in his eyes like that poofy-haired fucker from Twilight. He'd even felt a pang at the line about that blank faced chit being his brand of heroin. The thought of doin' lines off Jesse's chest, feelin' the muscles in his stomach quiver… Ah, but goddamn he's fallen so hard and fast into this addiction. Cassidy could sooner go sunbathing than pry his eyes off Jesse”</p><p>It turned into a feeding fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jesse Custer: All You Can Eat Buffet

Back at it again with the drinking and the pews.

 

One-hundred and nineteen years old and Cassidy was staring after that preacher with hearts in his eyes, like that poofy-haired fucker from Twilight. He’d watched the film the second it came out, feet up on the seat in front of him, two popcorns and a soda in his lap, laughing uproariously as all the tweens sent him icy death glares. Cass was honestly sorry— he could still remember his own idols of youth—but the fact that anyone could take this shit seriously too damn absurd for words. Bad enough the old authors had made him into a water-fearing, cross-phobic sissy, but now they were gonna make him sparkle too?

 

“Sure sure,” he’d said, throwing popcorn at the screen. “Only sparkle you’re gettin’ is when I piss all over this here shite!” Cass has been escorted out of the movie after that.

 

Only good things coming out of that film were the werewolves (accurate: Cass had always thought they were a wooden, pretentious bunch), and... well, he _had_ felt a pang at the line about that blank-faced chit being Poofy-Hair’s brand of heroin. The funny thing was, Cass hadn’t known _why_ he was feeling that pang at the time. He certainly didn’t have lovers lining out the door.

 

Yet two weeks later Cass had rigged himself a private entertaining gig, took a group of what seemed like nice blokes up in an airplane, had to defend himself like a real vampire, jumped 30,000 feet, and damn near landed smack on top of one Reverend Jesse Custer.

 

Least that’s how it felt sometimes. Because that pang? I was a damn _throb_ now.

 

Heroin huh. The thought of doin’ lines off Jesse’s chest, feelin’ the muscles of his stomach quiver… Ah, but goddamn he’s fallen hard and fast into this addiction. Cassidy could sooner go sunbathing than pry his eyes off Jesse. Yet strangely enough, seemed like Jesse was thinking the same.

 

Preacher was _staring_.

 

“Wha?” Cass asked. “Hoggin’ the bottle, am I?”

 

“Nah.” Jesse waved it away, an odd gesture in and of itself. “It’s just... Fuck, Cass. You’re a _vampire_.”

 

Cass froze. “Yeh... thought we’d covered that, padre.” He barely mustered up a grin because shite, he’d had this conversation one too many times before. And, Cass would like to add, they never once turned out right and dandy. The words “you’re a vampire” infused with anything resembling belief tended to proceed screaming, crying, shooting, Hail Mary’s, and on one memorable occasion a call to the local exorcist.

 

He eyed Jesse and his big arms a tad warily.

 

Still, Cass had a stupid impulse in that moment to quote “Say it out loud” to him, even though Jesse had already _said_ it, he just needed Jesse to say something else because it was quiet, so fucking quiet, _why the hell was this guy so quiet?_

 

Just staring at him.

 

“Uh... padre?”

 

Jesse waved again, which might have been reassuring. Cass hadn’t decided yet.

 

“I’m not breaking out the holy water, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he said.

 

“No.” Yeah. “That shite doesn’t do nothin’ anyway.” Why was he telling him this?

 

“Really?”

 

“Ya.”

 

“Huh. No, I was just wondering why you were drinking whiskey instead of blood.”

 

Well shite.

 

Lots of decent answers to that. Cass _liked_ whiskey for one thing. Didn’t want to dig into Jesse’s flock for another. Literal flock wasn’t much good either. The living would never know it, but blood had real taste to it, and with taste came preference. Sheep were fine and all if you were starving, but not something Cass wanted to subside on permanently. Horses were too damn conspicuous, goats were mean, pigs... fuck now, you seen the slop they ate? Point was Cass had been on a damn strict diet since he got here and he didn’t appreciate Jesse bringing it up.

 

... except he did because he appreciated everything Jesse did, the handsome fucker.

 

Cass was about to lead with that—maybe leaving out the “handsome” part—when Jesse beat him to it, leaning forward until his body curved towards Cass, their knees nearly touching. Before Cass could so much as blink that preacher man was tearing down his shirt, collar and all, leaving his neck bare and vulnerable for the taking.

 

“You can have some, you know,” Jesse said, like he was offering a cigarette as opposed to his freaking artery. “Figure you must have pretty good control by now, hmm? No more than what I’d give to the Red Cross, alright?” and the bastard winked.

 

Now, one couldn’t exactly blush without a proper circulatory system, yet Cass would have sworn on his Irish heart that his face heated tomato red in that moment. A bloody Grade A Charlie Brown blush.

 

“Don’t know what you’re offering,” he muttered.

 

“Don’t I?”

 

“No, ya don’t,” and this time it came out a snap. First he’d ever thrown at Jesse Custer and Cass hoped to hell it was the last. “You think I can just stop once I get the juices and like flowin’, huh?”

 

“I do.”

 

“And what if I can’t?”

 

“Then I’d _command_ you to stop.”

 

Cass drew in a sort of trembling breath, because that there was definitely an option. Too picture perfect for words, so far as he was concerned, because hell, Cass didn’t need any justifications. Jesse might be offering, and it might be damn sweet, but Cass hadn’t had any drugs since he’d set foot in this town and he didn’t plan on starting now.

 

Heroin was a might bit strong after a dry spell. Metaphorically speaking.

 

Cass leaned forward as well, hoping that helped with the emphasis and all. “You’re not hearin’ me, padre, really you’re not. I’m no Dracula. No, no... Eddie?”

 

“Edward.” Jesse’s lips twitched.

 

“I’m gonna pretend you didn’ know that—no, not Edward either. I look like I’ve got fangs to you?” Cass cranked open his mouth, letting Jesse get a good look all the way back to his molars. “It’s a nice fantasy, sure, piercin’ and drinkin’ like outta a sippy cup, but it just ain’t the truth. I gotta tear into the lil’ wankers’ flesh. I gotta goddamn _rip their throats out_.”

 

Cass was hoping to scare Jesse off from the idea. Not that it wasn’t true, but he could chomp down without tearing, lap up little bits as the blood bubbled up... and Cass shut his mind down right there, because no way was he picturing his preacher shirtless, a whole litany of marks covering his chest and back. Cass’ mouth was stupidly flexible and that image wasn’t doing anyone anything, except maybe driving him up the proverbial wall. He sat back, doing his bally best to appear firm.

 

“A whole bite or nothin’,” Cass emphasized.

 

He was expecting Jesse to beat it after that. Best case scenario—because lets be real, man had morals of steel—was that Jessee nodded kindly, letting Cass know that they were still buds, provided they never spoke of this again. Maybe he’d get a nice lecture on not eating any of the neighbors, least that Jesse knew, and that was well and truly becoming a problem because Cass would need to feed sometime. Sometime _soon_.

 

What was it Edward had called it? Being a vegetarian? Yuck. Didn’t fly for the living and not for the undead either, far as Cass was concerned.

 

He was still thinking about that stupid movie (“How long you been nineteen, Cass?”) when a warm press against his thigh made him jump. Jesse had moved to sit beside him, one hand actually dangling on Cass’ knee. If they were talking drugs this was some strange one that paralyzed you. Cass kept waiting for the kick.

 

“That all you’re concerned about?” Jesse said, nice and soft. “Hurting me? I can take my fair share of pain, Cass, you know that, but even if you don’t wanna... I don’t know, _maim_ me or something, there are other ways.”

 

Cass blinked. “Wha?”

 

“You’re an idiot,” and with a final pat Jesse rose to his feet. In moments he was out the church doors, raising a single finger to tell Cass to wait.

 

... the fuck?

 

Still, Cass wasn’t nothing if not loyal, at least to Jesse, so he stayed put, squirming and letting out a curse here and there. It _was_ like a drug, because though Cass was feeling horny and nervous and a bit on the guilty side, the only thing coming through was hunger. That sickly ache that started in his stomach before rushing through the rest of him—tightening his muscles and making his gums ache like a dog in need of a bone. Cass ran his tongue over his teeth, still waiting.

 

When Jesse did come back it was with a wine glass and a goddamn knife. He twirled the weapon expertly. Cass stared.

 

“Seriously now,” he said. “The fuck?”

 

“This,” Jesse said and drew the knife across his arm.

 

Stupid. What a goddamn _stupid_ wanker—at least that’s was Cass would have been thinking if his mind wasn’t overrun by the smell of blood, overpowering before it even broke through Jesse’s skin. He normally had better self control than this, would have if he’d bothered to eat at all the last week, but as it was Cass was out of the pew in a single second, barely keeping himself from lunging on Jesse then and there. One hand gripped the pew to anchor himself, the other acted as a surrogate, Cass’ teeth biting down into his own flesh.

 

Cass snarled around it, instincts getting the better of him. If he’d been in a better state of mind he might have noticed Jesse’s expression, notably that it lacked any of the expected fear. There were nerves there, but that stemmed solely from the gorgeous rush that accompanied danger, the thrill of beginning something new. More than that, Cass would have picked up on the fondness there, just a layer beneath and, if he’d have believed it, that would have been confirmation that he wasn’t the only one with damn hearts in his eyes.

 

“Easy, partner,” Jesse said, and smiled.

 

Blood was coating his arm now. Coming back to himself, Jesse tilted so that the majority of it ran into the glass, filling it, then scraped off the top like it was some kind of specialty beer. Jesse was smart enough not to wait. He thrust the glass out and Cass snatched it, taking a bite out of the edge in his hurry to gulp it all down. He swallowed the glass shards as well as the blood, hissing when he ran out too soon.

 

It coated his mouth, his chin, riveting down to his neck. In desperation Cass swiped his fingers inside, sucking them off before going back for more. When the glass contained nothing but smears Cass snapped the stem and tossed it aside. Its shatter sounded obscenely loud in the church.

 

“Hot damn,” Jesse whispered. “So much for my attempts at sophistication.”

 

“… Yeah.” Cass scratched at the back of his neck. “Uh… more please?”

 

“Sure thing, Twist.”

 

Jesse extended his arm this time and lucky for him that first batch had taken the edge off. Still, Cass hesitated, Jesse’s arm suddenly held in his hands like a rib he was about to go to town on.”

 

“Sure, padre?” he asked.

 

“Yeah. Just don’t bite,” and underneath Jesse’s words was that hint of power, the threat of it. Cass nodded.

 

Hunter partially sated, Cass was able to really _taste_ this time and he groaned aloud as his mouth closed over the wound. He always knew Jesse would be sweet, but holy hell, Cass had never tasted anything like _this_.

 

He was literally sweet, almost sickly so, but beneath that initial layer there was tartness, sour, the heavy aftertaste of meat. These were somehow separate from and equally a part of Jesse, whatever it was within him tasting like _everything_ at once. Cass didn’t realize he was sucking hard at the wound until Jesse let out a hiss of protest. He backed off, just a little.

 

Cass turned his attention to the blood drying on his forearm instead. He moved through the dark hair, licking Jesse clean.

 

“Shit,” Jesse said as he fell back into the pew. Cass didn’t mind. Easier access. He sank to his knees between Jesse’s legs, a whine emerging when his little blood fountain began to run dry.

 

Cass felt him laugh then, a reverberation that passed from Jesse into him. “No more until you clean up your mess,” he said, sounding strained, and at first Cass didn’t understand. Then Jesse pointed to the smears of blood that had gotten onto his legs.

 

Cass spared him a toothy grin before sliding out—hands and knees—and attacking the stains with gusto. It was an odd combination, blood and jeans, but definitely one that Cass could get used to. He attached himself to the inside of Jesse’s thigh and sucked, grinning again when Jesse cursed and grabbed a fistful of hair. Cass let him—he was a little preoccupied with tonguing his way up higher.

 

It was only when Cass reached his destination that he noticed the bulge, honestly surprised. Cass looked up at Jesse and gapped: the preacher’s head thrown back over the pew, muttering something indistinct at the ceiling. Cass really _felt_ Jesse’s hand then, trembling in his hair, the other gripping wood so hard it creaked, his hips making minute thrusts forward.

 

Cass wanted this, _Jesus_ did he ever, but right now he was still focused on the food. If this was all Jesse ever gave him than damn, he was one lucky fucking vamp.

 

So he took a mental picture—something to last when the real thing was gone.

 

“Sure?” Cass asked again, more to be a tease than anything else. He yelped when Jesse boxed him over the ear.

 

“ ** _You stop now, you little shit, and I swear_** —”

 

Cass’ body flooded with adrenaline, manic, unsure of what to do in the face of that power with no clear command. Only sane thing then was to get back to work.

 

Like a cat Cass smeared the remaining blood from his face onto Jesse, then began mouthing at his dick through the jeans. Slow and tantalizing… just ‘cause Cass was an ass like that. Still, it didn’t take long, and Cass was more than egged on by the whimpers he was squeezing out of Jesse.

 

Like a bunny in a bear trap. _Happy_ goddamn bunny.

 

Then it finished all at once. By the time Cass was tonguing bits of blood from between the teeth of his zipper, Jesse came with a howled curse, cum soaking the fabric pressed tight to Cass’ face.

 

And fuck if that wasn’t good for him too. Only thing that could possibly compare to the hot rush of blood.

 

“C’mere,” Jesse growled. He hauled Cass up by his shirt, bringing their mouths together in a clash of teeth—bruising just the way Cass liked it. Only two seconds later though and Jesse was pulling away, spitting and laughing his fool head off.

 

“You’re a mad one,” Cass said, sort of hating how fond he sounded.

 

“ _You’re_ nasty. Shit, Cass, that tastes awful.” Jesse wiped some blood off his chin.

 

“Yep. Definitely mad. Taste like fuckin’ heroin, you do.”

 

“ _Heroin?_ ”

 

“It’s… it’s a bloody metaphor, okay?”

 

“What? Like those two kids with cancer? Can’t handle a real drag?”

 

“No! Christ how do you even know this shite?”

 

Jesse laughed again, muttering something about Tulip and old indulgences. Just as quick though his hand was under Cass’ chin, lifting it with too much concern.

 

“You good?” Jesse asked, gaze dropping low.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Still hungry?’

 

“… yeah.”

 

Jesse smiled. Stupid fucker smiled while handing him the knife, saying only, “Dessert?”

 

It was in a rather bewildered state that Cass took it, because really, poof-haired Edward had _nothing_ on what Cass got.

 

Jesse plucked at his jeans with a grimace, but laid down readily enough on the pew. Cass crawled on top. Ass planted in the damn wet patch he stared down at this man, willingly vulnerable for him, hands out in a _what are you waitin’ for?_ pose.

 

“Just be careful.”

 

“Ay,” Cass said, raising the knife. “I’m always careful with you, love.”

 

_Fin._

 

**Author's Note:**

> [Feel free to stop by my tumblr (itsclydebitches) and send me a prompt!]


End file.
